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Sex, Love and Brooklyn: Ass-Play and Other Things

The other night I met someone at a birthday party and seduced him. He was dead sexy: a blonde wearing cowboy boots. (Sidenote: I’m beginning to realize through this column I have a thing for blondes.) When we got home, the sex was not hot—lukewarm at best. Whatever position we tried, he kept falling out of me. When this happens once, you think, “Whatever, it’s just bodies being weird and not fitting together exactly right. Nobody’s perfect.” When it happens over and over, you both start to feel insecure. I kept thinking my vagina had finally stretched out, even though I believe this is a horrible myth designed to make women feel even worse about ourselves. He started to get anxious and kept saying he was sorry. “Sorry,” of course, is the least sexy word. It is very hard to come back after “sorry.”

While I was on top, I felt him get just a little bit softer, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I got off him. Not one to go without a fight though, I went downtown. He started to make some noise, and I thought, “We’re getting somewhere.” I noticed he really loved it when I licked his balls, and inched closer to his taint. I slipped a finger into his butt and his body began to writhe. That’s when I made the executive decision to eat out his asshole. Bam. Boom. Fireworks.

I make no apologies for MTA (mouth-to-ass) play. I don’t think it’s gross, and rim jobs feel great. Moreover, I love discovering what flips people’s switch. For me the best part of having sex with someone new is finding out how weird they are. Some folks want their brown star shined, others want to pretend they’re your personal toothbrush and lick your teeth clean. The scope of desire is wide and deep, just like the ocean.